Category Archives: Reader Stories
My number was Virginia 9….
My number was Virginia 9. We lived in queens. I remember shoe laces – Long thin strips of licorish, wax soda bottles, and candy smokes. We used to buy penny candy, little carmels, red hots, and other chewy things that practicly ripped your teeth out of your head. Had to do it on the sly – candy was off limits in our house. medeska
I still say that my life…
My mother’s “calling out”…
My mother’s “calling out” became a thorn in my side, one that my mother never grew out of. It began from a second story garden apartment in Queens,(where I grew up), and I was called up for a variety of things: “D-I-N-N-E-R! P-H-O-N-E-C-A-L-L!”, “E-D S-U-L-L-I-V-A-N I-S O-N!” As I grew older, these “calling outs” of my mother’s, escalated to the next level, and she brought them with her into various department and book stores. Not having her trusty window with her, my mother would invariably wonder off to look at something, lose me in the process, and then page me. When I turned 43 (gulp!) I decided that I’d had enough! So ….. On A recent trip to K-mart, wondering through the plant isle, I realized that I was in a one way conversation with myself. My mother had done it again. Poof! she had disappeared. I knew in a manner of 5 minutes or so, my name would be announced, and ALL of K-Mart would hear it. I ran over to the toy department, and picked up an item. As I heard my name, I rushed over to the nearest cashier, and made my purchase. I took my mother’s arm, and escorted her outside, where I presented her with own megaphone. She laughed. After a recent trip to Macy’s with my son, I called my mother on the phone and asked: “Remember that megaphone I bought you in K-mart? Could I borrow it?” My mother laughed.
Slinky’s! Could…
When I was 13 or so for…
When I was 13 or so for two years I hung out by Ebbets Field and got many autographs from the Dodgers and their opponents…Linus Frey was a rookie infielder and so gracious as were all of the Dodgers….would sneak in after doors opened about the seventh inning and hide in the ticket booths made of wood with real knotholes..peak out when players came from locker rooms and jump out if I did not have their signature in my marbalized cover book with indexes for 8 NBL teams..only the hated Bill Terry of the Giants refused..so typical..all for now..back later I hope..John
We didn’t call the game Mother…
We didn’t call the game Mother May I, we called it Giant Steps. We had a great group of kids living in our development (about a dozen four story buildings encircling a courtyard, which was our world). No one really got picked on; we all kind of just goofed around with each other good naturedly. We took turns being the king of the hill, and we took turns being the one being goofed on. Sometimes we’d get eight giant steps, sometimes we’d get one baby step. It was lots of fun. There was also a fenced-in lawn in the center of the courtyard. We’d run races around the lawn, starting at the same point, each runner going in opposite direction around the circumference of the lawn (which seemed enormous at the time). Who ever got back to “home base” first won. The stoop was reserved for more reserved games like house, horses and Barbies. We had a deluxe stoop; it was almost like a cement deck. There was plenty of room to congregate and go into our little fantasy worlds up there. Once in a while we would get showered with pennies by some kind stranger who would throw them down to us in the middle of our play. We never found out who that was. We thought it was magic.
I want a charlotte russe!…
I want a charlotte russe! A real charlotte russe with the scallop edged carboard holder,that perfect little round piece of cake and all of the luscious REAL whipped cream. And the cherry. It has to have a cherry; not a stupid strawberry like they have on the ersatz thingies that are sold at our local bakery. I want a charlotte russe now!!
Wow, does that bring back…
Wow, does that bring back vivid memories! I can still hear Mary Geary screaming at the top of her lungs “Oh, Car – ol”, from our front walk after school everyday. These days, it would probably be viewed as strange or rude, but in the 60’s in my neighborhood (the suburbs of Buffalo), it was standard procedure.